Page 115 of Billionaire Bachelor
I never thought my tidiness would work against me, but here we are.
“Uh…they’re in the bedroom. I’ll grab ’em.”
“I can get?—”
I’m already in the hallway before she can finish her sentence. “Nope. I’m good.”
I grab the shorts and hustle back to the living room. She gives me herWhat the hell is wrong with you?look so I take a breath and casually toss her shorts on the couch and make my way back to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Rosie mutters.
There’s some shuffling as she slips them on before padding barefoot—still braless—over to the kitchen to join me.
“That smells amazing.” Rosie comes up beside me, leaning against the counter. “Whatcha making?”
“Keeping it simple. Spaghetti, garlic bread, salad.” My eyes dart down to her nipples again.
Why the fuck am I acting like I’ve never seen a pair of breasts before?
She follows my gaze, smirking when she sees what I’m looking at. “Perv.”
I shrug. “In my defense, you’re braless and wearing a thin-as-fuck white T-shirt with pierced nipples. My eyes are going to naturally be drawn to them. Plus, you have a really great rack, and I never claimed to be a saint.”
She laughs. “Oh, I’mwell awareyou’re not a saint. For which I am quite grateful. Also…my rack thanks you for the compliment.”
I grab her by the hip, pulling her in for a quick kiss. “Your rack can thank me more thoroughly later if you’re up for it. But first…you’re on salad duty.” I give her a little nudge and a light smack on the ass. “Get to it, woman.”
She pulls open the fridge, making a show out of bending forward as she digs through the crisper.
I damn near drop the spoon as I’m taste-testing the sauce.
“We need music.” She scrolls through her phone, selecting a playlist before connecting it to the apartment’s built-in sound system. “Look at us playing house.”
Damn, if she only knew how close she is to the mark.
“You know I’m game for a little role play, baby. All you need to do is ask.”
Say yes, and we won’t beplayinganymore.
Rosie bumps her hip into mine as she reaches over to grab a cutting board. “Always making it dirty.”
I set the sauce on the warmer, grab a large pot, and fill it with water.
“Which you just admitted you love,” I remind her.
Her full lips curve into a knowing grin. “Yes, I did.”
We fall into an easy rhythm after that, Rosie putting together a garden salad while I boil the pasta, trying—and mostly failing—to not get distracted by the way her hips sway instinctively to the beat.
We eat on the terrace, like we have been every Saturday lately, talking, laughing…kissing. When the kissing becomes heated, I know I need to hit the brakes before I get distracted and ruin my surprise.
“Hey,” I say, pulling back slightly and brushing my thumb along her jaw, “there’s something I want to show you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Does it start with a D and end with a K?”
I chuckle, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “No. But I can show you that later.” I stand and tug her up with me, interlacing our fingers.“Come back downstairs with me.”
Rosie’s still half-smiling as we head inside, probably from whatever smartass remark she’s holding on to, but there’s curiosity in her eyes now.
